Outside Perspective
by oppisum
Summary: Sometimes it takes an outside observer to see what those directly involved cannot. Lestrade observes Sherlock and John at a crime scene and speculates that all bets would be off too long.


**Outside Perspective**

**Summary: Sometimes it takes an outside observer to see what those directly involved cannot. Lestrade observes Sherlock and John at a crime scene and speculates that all bets would be off too long.**

**A/N: This pairing is officially my guilty pleasure. But I mean really, it's practically the pairing that pairs itself, so how could I resist? FYI, this has post-s2 references in it in passing.**

**I love writing from Lestrade's perspective, so I might add a second chapter. Please tell me what you think and if there are any corrections to be made.**

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was not the incompetent idiot that Sherlock Holed made him feel. In fact, despite not having the consulting detective's keen abilities of observation, he was beginning to think that there were some things that he saw more clearly than the great Holmes and his loyal companion. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he got the distinct impression that there were some very important non-crime related issues that the two men were overlooking. _Or perhaps, _Lestrade mentally amended, _ignoring._

No, he wasn't one of the officers involved with the (alarmingly large) betting pool at Scotland Yard about the two secretly being couple, but he wasn't quite willing to put money against them becoming one. He knew better than to jump to unfounded conclusions, but his eyes _did _work.

Thought he had refrained from saying anything at the time, Lestrade had initially thought that Holmes had brought a lover to the crime scene the first time John ever helped out on a case. Really, it seemed a very Sherlock thing to do, and what with the perpetual open-mouthed admiration with which the slightly older doctor regarded his every deduction, it seemed a logical assumption. Of course, he'd realised the truth soon enough, but that didn't keep the initial impression from lingering.

He had heard John assert on multiple occasions that they were not – in fact – a couple. This denial had initially been made with flustered incredulity, then with half-hearted, feigned irritation, and finally with about as much conviction as if he'd been reading that morning's weather report from the paper. Never mind that fact that since Sherlock's return the doctor had done little more than sigh exasperatedly every time someone mistook them for a couple.

That was another thing – Three months! For three bloody months John had mourned and Lestrade had worked his arse off to clear the insufferable detective's tarnished name only for him to miraculously come back to life, hands full of evidence that proved he wasn't a fraud and Moriarty was real. Greg hadn't been sure whether he wanted to strangle the brilliant man, hug hum, or beg him to help out on his latest case.

Speaking of cases, that's where all three of them were now, standing around the body of a dead accountant who appeared to have had more skeletons in her closet than Watson and Holmes had in their fridge. Abruptly, Lestrade's thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock's irate tirade aimed at a flinching Anderson. "Are you really so incompetent that you can't even tell the effects of hydrochloric acid from that of sulfuric acid? That degree of forensics you possess is supposed to be for more than mere show."

The normally pale man was red-faced with anger as he berated Anderson. Apparently, the arrogant forensic tech had inadvertently rendered some amount of 'Sherlock readable only' evidence useless. The slender detective continued to hiss menacingly, mere inches from the fearful-looking tech. It was funny; for a man who apparently disliked physical contact he didn't initiate, Sherlock really had no concept of personal space.

"Sherlock," John said softly, laying a calming hand on the other man's shoulder. Instead of leaning away from it as he would have with anyone else, the taller man calmed slightly under the touch and let the hand remain without protest.

Okay, scratch that previous statement. Sherlock Holmes hated physical contact apart from that with Dr John Watson. This had always been the case, but it had become even more apparent since the return. The pair had always stood close together when at crime scenes, bur not it was as if there was a literal gravitational pull between them – when one moved a step in either direstion, so did the other.

"I will not condone incompetence, John," grumbled the irritated detective.

"You've already given the man a verbal lashing belittled his degree, questioned the physical presence of his brain, and rendered him speechless for four minutes. I don't think you've condoned anything," John replied, unconsciously moving his hand to Sherlock's arm.

Oh how things had changed from five years ago. When Lestrade had first met Sherlock, the brilliant man had been little more than a twenty-nine year old kid hooked on cocaine and wasting his vast talents on what was threatening to become a life of career student-dom. He had inadvertently gotten involved with and eventually solved a murder that took place at one of the numerous universities offering him research grants. As much as he had sneered at the idea of working with Scotland Yard on a regular basis, it was less than two weeks before he was asking for another investigation to help cure his ennui, to which Lestrade had said that there was no way ne was regularly letting a drug addict run rampant at his crime scenes, no matter how much of a genius he was.

It had taken another two weeks for Sherlock to decide that the investigations meant more to him than the cocaine. Lestrade knew that his willingness to work with the detective was a large part of why he had finally decided to get clean. But now… now it was as if Holmes had a new drug whether he realized it or not – John. John had become the drug that helped his friend think, let him smile, and made him human. Well, more human than Lestrade had ever known him to be.

Yes, Greg thought, watching the way the pair interacted with one another. There was no way he was going to end up on the wrong side of that particular betting pool, because judging by the way the two had recently taken to acting while together, he got the distinct impression that it was only a matter of time before all bets were off.


End file.
